Misrepresentation

MisrepresentationRPSDavid Boreanaz/Christian KaneNC/17Not mine. Not hers. No profit. No gain.

…“You got me.”…

Do I?

Blood rushed past his eardrums, his heart beat sounding like some insane techno CD recording and David couldn’t think past the feel of Chris’ cock slowing pressing inside of him. The heat of Chris’ skin on his, the unblinking stare of those deep, rich eyes framed with thick, dark lashes. The cool metal hood of his classic ‘stang bending under his weight, behind his back was not a distraction. Not the music and laughter that filtered in from the outside the garage, from the party that was not his idea, not his scene, not his choice.

”Why did you invite him over again?”

“He is my friend, Jamie. Before you were my wife.”

“Fuck you, asshole. You don’t think I know that? You don’t think I will always know that he came first?”

“Go shopping or something. Take Jaden or don’t, but get lost.”

“No. I think I’ll invite some of my friends over, David. Some from before I knew you.”

“Whatever. Just make sure that they are clean, I don’t fucking want any walking talking corpses around my son.”

David spread his legs, lost himself in the blue eyes that pinned and held. A shudder ran through him when Chris stopped, pulled almost all the way out and then pushed in again. Further. Deeper. Harder. Shrill voices in David’s mind that dripped with anything but love or respect or compassion lost behind the sound of Chris breathing. Harsh, rapid pants that stole the oxygen from David’s mouth and lungs. His forehead ached from the blow of Chris’ skull, his cock throbbed, and pulsed in time with the pumping lust that consumed him. Made him reckless, greedy. Made his big hands reach and grab, pinch and twist and bruise Chris’ arms and hips and chest.

Do I really?

Slick, slip and slide and harsh movements that kept David on the edge. Each thrust, every grunt and gasp and push forward. The garage darkening around them, dim becomes gloom, and shadows become impenetrable, hiding, keeping secrets. David’s fingers moved up, brushed long sweaty hair from Chris’ face, back from his open eyes and there it is … that flicker of a question that is never answered, never asked.

“It was different, Dave and you know it. They know it. Everyone at that fucking table saw you.fucking.touch.me.”

No gestures of affection, no more public displays of attention. David kept a tight leash on his emotions. A fucking choke chain. Punches, laughter, it was all the same, all there for anyone to see, but for the kisses that felt like gossamer, the caresses that lasted long after the fucking. The blood in David’s mouth when he bit his tongue so goddamn hard to keep what he felt inside, to not say what he thought when he would catch sight of Chris across a room, talking to someone else. His lips curved up in the smirk that David wanted to taste.

When Chris would sit out in the dark at break on a and weren’t they fucking all?, night shoot. His guitar in his hands, the moon and spotlights leeching the color from his face and hair and eyes as he leaned against the back of a trailer and played a song that no one but David had heard before.

The first time Jaden had walked on his unsteady, chubby legs over to where Chris sat and grabbed the can of Skoal off his thigh. Tossed off his pacifier and stuck the can in his mouth and Chris’ head had fallen back, hitting the wall behind the couch. His laughter sounding rich and real and true.

Have I ever?

Years of this. Of stolen moments, weekends with conveniently forgotten and misplaced cell phones. An hour of sweat here, an afternoon of fucking there and always when they were both supposed to be someplace else. When they could arrange the alibi and the lies and pretend that it didn’t matter to either of them. Not the dissembling, not the scrambling, not the rush and grope and was it supposed to make this better? Wasn’t an illicit affair supposed to burn hotter than anything else does? And whenever David slipped in private, whenever he touched softly, kissed gently, murmured words under his breath that neither of them would acknowledge, David would see that fucking question in Chris’ eyes again.

What am I to you?

David’s legs lifted and tightened around Chris’ hips, pulling him closer. His fingers slipped from Chris’ cheeks into his hair and tangled there. Dulled the curiosity in Chris’ eyes with pain, lips drawn back from whitened teeth. Skin that tasted like peppers soaked in vodka on David’s tongue, the smoke and musk and sensuality that kept him coming back for more, for this, even when he knew he couldn’t answer that fucking question and stay on this side of the fence from Chris forever.